Never Once Was She a Songbird
by Whispers To Kill
Summary: Untied and equal we observed with the world ignorant of our pain as we were ignorant of our fate. Because here the infants were thrown into the ashes of their mothers, and here is where the daughters are ripped from the souls of their fathers.


The composition analysis of a pool of saliva spit from between pearly, rotten teeth (full of clustering bubbles like frog eggs and having a sticky, stringy wetness akin to that of snot) would reveal no speck of remorse or guilt for the perpetrations of the perpetrator. To the contrary, that spittle would glimmer without light and radiate the sharp, skilled, minty breath of a rich man's pride. He was a figure of great condescension, whose jaw was clenched to the degree of a husband's hand to his wife's throat; his eyes were the reflection of one's own fear, for the belief that when man was created emotion had been stored in his heart prior to birth was a theory that his pupils demolished before his lids even rose. The shoulders of the courageous (similar to that of Pizarro and Genghis Khan) rose from his bones, and the strength in his arms were the power of brass. The skin on his face was as unblemished as cream; the gold in his hair was a Conquistador's dream; the blue in his eyes would cause the whole world to die.

The black on his uniform was fit for both the morgue and the reaper yet was polished and smooth as an infant's fair skin. He withered all in his path with the air of fine cruelty, and it appeared the threads in his coat were born from the whiplash of spite. He seemed a scholar, a General, and a pocket-watch holder (when the hands of the clock strike the seconds of fate). He was handsome as the chords from a god's operatic requiem.

It appeared that his presence caused the frigid air to plummet seven degrees more, and how utterly unfortunate was it that the cold refused to be a numbing narcotic but only struck her repetitively and furiously as a reminder of unwanted life. Oh, it was a terrible dread, and a horrendous fear that caused her veins to writhe and curdle in twisted, agonized clusters of the withering. What little skin that clung to her was a coat thinner than oxygen; deprivation was gasping, and it seemed that the point of a needle would strike bone with barely a puncture. So very long had they been standing; she was waiting for the weight of her body to splinter her bones, and the tickle of algid winds seemed to scream a warning of overturning.

Still there was that man looking up and down the rows with the intensity that struck the flame from the fire and stole the breath from our lips. Untied and equal we observed with the world ignorant of our pain as we were ignorant of our fate. Because here the infants were thrown into the ashes of their mothers, and here is where the daughters are ripped from the souls of their fathers, and together we were naïve of this. We were unaware of this simple, fatal fact, contrary to the knowledge of those millions who were crippled of the ability to tell us!

Yet we yearned to know in this loathsome trench that scented of the fouled blood of our heritage - us the bastards of the world and the shame of all created! Such young, precious victims; such filthy, vile victims.

She was a mother from the start with tears for both the broken and the healed. Never before had she been depleted of tears, yet in her pocket was nothing but salt, (No water to spare for a worthless, little tear!) and what use is salt when all it does is burn? No; no tears for now - the world is her salt. (Though, what a taunt it is to think of those delectable and thirst quenching tears in her state!)

"You, step forward!"

Malicious, hardened, deep and reverberating with the strength of the predator who taunted their prey not for the sheer joy of dominance, but for the sheer delight in watching the withering, writhing terror of the useless, the ignorant, the weak and the unwanted, damned of the world.

Oh, how her fate changed! Gather around to the tales of medical horror, for never have they lied in the face of the trial! And let us not forget, how pretty a little wench this prosecuted Ukrainian girl was - a magnificent curse in this Hollywood world, and a still greater curse in the world of the anathema!

* * *

Note: You have my humility and apologies as a human and a writer, for I know I do you [survivors, humanity and deceased] no justice when I write this; I beg you to please forgive me. Never shall the atrocities of this tragedy be captured. I've researched and done as well as I can to create this as accurately as I can, however I do not doubt that it is far from correct. Thank you and** I mean no offense to anyone**. The language speaks foully of certain groups based on historical reference and my attempt to be accurate, but NOT because these are my opinions of beliefs. I love all equally. If you are however offended, please notify me as I would like to apologize. With love, Kaitlin.


End file.
